


On Christmas Day

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:04:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A merry little Christmas PWP, with angst and extreme sappiness.





	On Christmas Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

On Christmas Day by Rosalita

On Christmas Day  
by Rosalita  
  
Mulder/Skinner  
MKRA: Yes  
Gossamer: No  
Sap alert! I started out to write a merry little Christmas PWP, but I realized that merry and Mulder don't go together so it got angsty. And in keeping with the Christmas tradition of extreme sappiness, it's pretty sappy. Forgive me, it won't happen again.  
I think we all know what we're here for, but just in case: This story is rated NC-17 and contains explicit sex between two men. You have been warned.  
Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner are the property of Chris Carter and Fox Broadcasting. They are borrowed without permission. I promise to give them back when I'm done. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

On Christmas Day  
Rosalita

I hate Christmas. 

People say that all the time when they're tired of the holiday hassle, but they don't really mean it. I do.

I'm not even sure what I'm doing here in Walter's home on Christmas Eve watching him fuss with the silver garland he's wrapping around the straightest Christmas tree I've ever seen. Each layer is a precise two inches away from the one below it. The tiny white lights dare not do anything but twinkle. Failure or burnout is not an option. Finished, he stands back and admires his work. 

"I hope you're not waiting for the damned thing to salute," I say peevishly, not knowing why it irritates me so much. 

I shouldn't be here. I should be curled up on my couch, wallowing in cheap vodka and my own misery--in my usual way on this damned holiday. But Walter wanted me here, it seemed important to him, so here I am.

He turns toward the couch where I sit slumped, mild annoyance showing on his face. "You know, Mulder, if you'd help me instead of being a smart ass, this could be more fun. It might even get you into the Christmas spirit."

*Christmas spirit, my ass,* I think.

"Bah humbug," I vocalize, but I get up from the couch. 

He'd gone to so much trouble to make things nice; had cooked a huge dinner which no two people would ever have been able to finish, and then had taken me with him to pick out the tree. It was a tradition in his family to wait until Christmas Eve to decorate and he wanted me to help. 

I suppose it's the least I can do.

A large box of brightly colored ornaments sits on the floor by the tree. On top are the usual tacky plastic assortment that can be purchased at K-Mart. I'm rethinking my opinion of Walter's taste when he says, "Don't use those."

Thank God, there's hope for him yet.

I remove them from the box along with some of those kitschy glass ornaments popular in the fifties and sixties that are now making a comeback. These are the real thing though. I hold one up and say, "You have *got* to be kidding"

He shakes his head. "Try the other box."

I look around. Another, smaller box sits near the stairs. He might have mentioned it. I haul it over to the tree and reach in. My breath catches as I pull out an exquisite, perfectly round sphere of clear glass and gold. There are many more ornaments in the box, each one different but just as breathtaking as the one I hold in my hand. I'm amazed. "Walter, these ornaments are beautiful."

He smiles as he sees the one I'm holding. "Yes, they are. They belonged to my mother. When she died, they were divided up between my sister and me. Her parents brought that particular one with them from Germany. My grandmother's father was a master glassblower and that was one of his wedding gifts to her. She loved her father dearly, and he died soon after her marriage. Wait until you see it on the tree; the lights reflect through it and create a rainbow effect. It's really something." 

Suddenly I'm afraid I'll drop it, and I try to hand it to him. He refuses it. "You hang it," he says.

My throat tightens inexplicably. Damn, Walter, why do you insist on drawing me into your life and how can I resist?

So I hang the damn thing. And it is, indeed, something. The tree's white lights glint off the gold and create prisms of vivid color in the glass. 

Skinner stands transfixed by the play of light on the ornament. Surely, he's seen this spectacle before; I get the feeling he's awed by it each time. I can see why as I stare at the sparkling colors, dancing as the sphere bobs on the branch. 

"You're really into Christmas, aren't you?" I ask, wincing as I hear the melancholy creeping unplanned into my voice. When Samantha told me she had children, my first thought had been that I finally had a family with whom to spend Christmas. I had brief visions of buying gifts for them and watching them tear into them on Christmas morning. *Thank you, Uncle Fox!* 

Uncle Fox--what a joke that turned out to be. 

I keep telling myself that I have plenty of reasons to celebrate this year. Both Samantha and Scully are alive and well, my relationship with my mother is finally thawing out after this summer's fiasco, Cancer Man is presumably dead, and true or not, at least he's out of the picture. Add to that this terrific new relationship with Walter and I should be happy. Why the hell aren't I?

"Christmas isn't easy for you, is it?" Skinner asks me with that compassionate expression he gets whenever we're heading into trauma territory. Oh please, not this, don't make me trot out all the horrors of Christmases past. 

"No, I guess not." I keep my eyes on the tree as I continue decorating it. I don't want to say anything more, but he wants so badly to understand me. I want it too. "I thought this year would be different, but it isn't. I still hate it. I just want to hide somewhere until January." My own vehemence surprises me. 

"There must have been a time when you liked Christmas." 

There it is; now I have to talk about my childhood. I should refuse, but I know from past experience that Walter will just wheedle it out of me anyway. Better to get it over with. 

"Christmas was never anything special. My father always seemed to be away. Mom made the best of it when we were little, but after Sam was gone there didn't seem to be much point. So we didn't have any family traditions like you had." 

I don't mean for it to sound so much like an accusation, but it does, and he looks guilty as if it's all his fault that he had a loving family and I had a lousy one. 

"Look, I should leave," I say. "I don't do Christmas well, and I'm ruining yours." I head for the door hoping to get out before he can stop me. 

"Mulder, wait. Don't go." I think he's going to grab me, but he doesn't. He lays a gentle hand on my shoulder and turns me slowly toward him. "You're not ruining my Christmas. You are my Christmas; I want you here with me. I want to make it good for you, start our own traditions. Please."

I can't bear this. He's trying so hard to get past my minefield of neuroses, and I can't even provide him with a map. People seem to think I enjoy my isolation. I don't--not entirely. Part of me wants to celebrate not just Christmas, but every major event in life with Walter. The rest of me thinks I don't deserve to celebrate anything. I let the small part of me that wants it so badly to win. Unable to do more because of the knot in my throat, I nod. 

His smile lights up his face in a way that I've never seen, and I know I've made the right decision. "I have something to start it off right," he says. He reaches into his pants pocket and a small green sprig wrapped in plastic appears in his hand

"What is that?" 

"Mistletoe."

Oh, so that's what it looks like. "And you were carrying it in your pocket? Where exactly did you expect me to kiss you?"

"We can get to my Christmas expectations later. Right now . . ." He holds the wilted greenery over his head with one hand and drags me to him with the other. 

I land against his chest with a satisfying thump as his tongue invades my mouth. It's warm and wet, and his chest is hard and muscled. I run my hands under his sweatshirt to tweak his nipples. Gasping, he wraps both arms around me. He bites gently at my throat, trying to nose his way to my shoulder, but my shirt is in his way. I step out of the coziness of his arms to remove it before he bites a hole in it. 

"Keep going," he says. I smirk at the memory of teasing Scully with these same words in her darkened bedroom after my "resurrection." She had not been amused. 

I drop my pants and slide off my underwear quickly, wanting nothing more than to be naked before this man. My cock is hard and aching already, wanting Walter's touch.

He obliges. Oh man, does he oblige. Hand grasping the back of my neck, holding me still while his tongue enters my mouth again at the same time his fingers land on my cock with a feather light touch. He holds me like this for an eternity. Tongue stroking in time with his hand. The sweet double assault makes me moan into his mouth and thrust into his hand. 

He lets me go and kneels in front of me. That scraggly piece of mistletoe is still in his hand. Grinning, he holds it over my cock. In spite of myself I laugh, but it quickly turns into a moan when he plants wet kisses all over the crown. 

Time warps, and I'm on my back, almost under the tree. Walter is naked--when did that happen?--and lying over me using his hands and mouth on and in every erogenous zone he can find. All I can do is tremble, gasp, and beg in a register my voice has never hit before. When I sing a tune he likes, he hits the responsible spot over and over until I'm screaming. 

Sweet Jesus, what is he doing to me? I feel his love for me in his caresses, his kisses. Even as I accept his unspoken declaration, I doubt that I'll ever fully deserve it. 

As if he knows what I'm thinking, he plays my body with even more skill, telling me silently he loves me, tearing sobs of pleasure and acknowledgment from my throat. It's so sweet it almost hurts. 

The caresses stop. No!

"I'll be right back," he pants.

Lube, I realize. He's going to get lube. I don't care about goddamn lube, I want him back here now. Christ, I'm gone. I'm really gone. 

He returns, carrying a bottle of sunflower oil. He waves it at me with a grin. "I thought this would be appropriate."

I can't stop my small smile. Slick fingers are already in me to the second knuckle, pushing forward. I touch myself, trying to relieve the pressure in my cock. 

"Don't," he whispers and pulls my hand away. He removes his fingers, and I feel the blunt end of his cock snug and hot against my opening. He lifts my legs over his shoulders, and tenderly kisses the inside of each thigh. 

Enough is enough. I need him now. I don't hesitate to push myself against his teasing cock and take it inside. He grunts out his surprise and thrusts the rest of the way in. He rests there momentarily, eyeing me, waiting. But for what? My permission? 

I tighten down on him and he groans lustily, but he's not through teasing me. Damn him.

He pulls slowly back out, making sure I feel each inch of his cock as it leaves my body. Then pushes forward, stretching me slowly until he can go in no farther. Once there, he gives his cock a little twist against my prostate, causing me to arch and scream. Then he repeats the process. And God, it's good. 

But I want more. He's always so gentle, as if he thinks I'm going to break. I want him to take me hard and fast. He's knows I want this, and he knows why. That's why he won't give it to me.

Sweat is dripping from his body; this is as hard on him as it is on me. His thrusts quicken now, but are still gentle, gentle. I'm melting; my body becoming part of the soft, thick carpet under me. He sees me vaporizing before him, and he finally whispers, "Touch yourself now. Come for me, Mulder."

He lifts himself from my body, bracing himself on his arms and, finally, giving me the speed and force I need. I roll myself up slightly, allowing him to go deeper as I stroke my own cock furiously. 

Our wordless exaltations are mingling as I feel the first spasms and splashes of his orgasm inside me. His head is thrown back and the muscles in his neck, chest, and arms bulge with the strain of holding his body up. 

I feel my own orgasm approaching as his continues. I reach up and urge him down onto me. His large body is pressed against mine and as my release hits, I press my open mouth to his, screaming his name inside of him. Pleasant tremors continue to shake me and I kiss him until they pass.

Sometime later, I recover. I'm still lying partially under the tree, half underneath Walter. He's considerably larger than me, but I don't mind his weight. I welcome it. It's comforting, safe. My index finger traces little patterns on his back as I glance up at the lights twinkling above me and my eye catches the glass and gold ornament. Seeing its dazzling display of color, I feel something that I might call contentment, if I knew what contentment felt like.

"Walter?" I whisper. 

"Hmm?" He wraps his arms around me and turns us on our sides. 

"Can this be one of our traditions?"

"What?" he laughs softly and holds me tighter. "Making love under the tree? Don't see why not."

My turn to laugh. "What will Santa think?"

"If he finds you under the tree naked, he'll think I left him a present."

"I'm not much of a gift, Walter."

"I disagree." He sighs. "I know Christmas is bad for you, but I want to make it good. I think I can, if you'll let me." 

His weight lifts momentarily as he twists to look at the clock on the VCR. It's 12:20 a.m. He leans down and whispers against my lips, "Merry Christmas, Mulder."

His lips trail down my throat and I tip my head back, gazing once again at the tree we decorated together. Maybe this Christmas tradition thing isn't so bad after all. 

"Merry Christmas, Walter."

End

12/21/97

________________________________________________________

Rosalita


End file.
